Toe the line

Since this is my third post in a row about my dear, old Tevas, I believe it's time to insert a funny, self-deprecating story.

So, the other day, when I was photographically documenting the change in my license plates from Wyoming to Montana, I figured it was a good time to document another change in my life: the out with the old and in with the new of my Tevas.

I retrieved my new sandals from my apartment and set them on the pavement next to my car. I was wearing my old Tevas, so I simply unstrapped and commenced my photo session barefoot.

The lighting was perfect, creating hard lines of shadow that, I figured, would nicely represent the old passing into shadow and the new emerging into the light of a new life. I also became pretty en rapt with the idea of old and new facing off across the yellow parking stripe. You know, to symbolize the new sandals having to toe the line of greatness left behind by the old. (Forgive me; I'm a writer, and we think such things.)

Anyway, there I was arranging my sandals into various artistic poses, shooting more intensely than likely was justified, when my landlord walked up behind me. At the particular moment he approached, I was bent in half, nearly touching my toes with the camera, to get the perfect shot.

"Are you okay?" he asked, sounding quite alarmed.

I straightened, disoriented by the sudden call to reality, and mortified by the fact that I was, actually, okay. If only I'd been puking to justify such odd behavior.

My cheeks reddened.

I chuckled and tossed my hair out of my eyes.

"Yeah, I'm okay."

"Oh, I'm so glad. It just looked like something was horribly wrong. I wanted to make sure you weren't ill or anything," he kindly responded. Then, smiling, he turned to leave.

"Wait," I said. I considered asking him what he meant by "ill," but, thankfully, that thought did not emerge.

"Yes?"

"Well, I ah, I just wanted to explain what I'm doing here, bending over in your parking lot, holding a camera like a maniac."

He chuckled and said there was no need.

"Oh, but there is," I urged. And then it all spilled out. You see, I'm a writer, I explained. And I have this blog. And right now I'm blogging about...my old Tevas. And, well, you see, I just got some new Tevas because my old ones are beyond tattered with love and I wanted to capture the whole changing of the guard with a few photos. So, I'm taking photos of my old Tevas and my new Tevas and that's why I'm standing here barefoot next to your car, looking like I've got a serious hangover.

And yes, your new tenant is nuts, I thought to myself.

But Mark just grinned. "I totally know what you mean!" he exclaimed, a twinkle in his eye.

"You...you do?"

"Yeah! I had this old pair of Tevas for like twelve years once. And, man, when it came time to give them up, I nearly cried. I'd been everywhere in those things. They're great, aren't they?"

Yes, sir. Yes they are. And, wow, what a moment we just shared, huh? I think we just surpassed the usual landlord/tenant relationship. We understand each other now.

"Okay, carry on," he said as he got into his car and drove off.

I nodded proudly and whispered, "I will, sir. I will."

Old showing new how to toe the line.

The old sole is worn and torn, the new is defined and strong.

Old passing into shadow; new passing into light.

Old and new walking together.